Reflections
by vanillaparchment
Summary: Actions make good mirrors. It's just hard to understand what you see. H/Hr


_A/N: Another practice run with Hogwarts fics. This one is actually (obviously) based on a scene in canon. If I got some of the facts wrong, I apologize. It's been forever since I've sat down and read this book. Please ask me if you have any questions; I do hope it's not confusing or awkward when it comes to the flow of the plot. Enjoy!_

He felt hollow, shaken, and he was struck suddenly by the urge to vomit. He clutched the edge of the sink, taking several deep breaths and attempting to stem the anger and fear mingling hotly in his chest. The sound of dripping water filled his ears, and the boys' toilet still seemed to reek of the smell of blood—he forced himself to look away from the floor, where blood was spreading scarlet tendrils along the surface of the water on the floor.

"Harry!"

Splashes echoed in the bathroom as someone dashed through the water pooled on the floor; he barely managed to whip around before her arms flew around him. He coughed and found himself staring into a long, unruly mane of hair.

"You!" she cried, pulling back and looking angry and tearful at the same time, "You complete—you utter—are you all right?"

He managed a nod as she squeezed his hands tightly.

"I heard—Myrtle came in and I thought—she said something about someone…. I thought—" she pushed back her hair and let out a breath, and said, a bit more gently than before, "Are you all right really?"

He nodded again, and she studied his face intently.

"Well," she said, releasing another breath, "That's one thing sorted. What in Merlin's name happened? I saw Malfoy—"

Harry tried not to flinch, but by the time he had attempted to hide it, Hermione had already seen it.

"He'll be all right," she said with more confidence than her face showed, "You don't look well at all."

She moved slightly closer to him, peering up into his face, and fell silent, looking suddenly solemn.

"Harry, did you…?"

She trailed off and looked at him quietly. He suddenly felt himself bristle at the look on her face. He felt defensive and strangely ashamed. He wished he could feel justified, but something in him was aching.

"He—he tried to use an Unforgivable, Hermione—"

She looked away, and Harry felt himself grown angry. Couldn't she see that it had been an accident—didn't she know that he would never have used the curse had he known what it would do?

"I'm glad you're all right," she said at last, very softly, "Come on. People will wonder where we are—and this is a boys' toilet; I really shouldn't be in here at all."

She did not mention the spell or the book, and for this Harry was grateful. As she pulled him around the corner, he could feel people staring at him.

It took him a while to realize where she was taking him, but when they stepped outside onto the grounds, Harry found he was glad of the fresh air.

She led him down the edge of the lake, in the shade of the large, wizened old oak tree where they sometimes worked.

"You'd best sit down—you look a bit shaken," she said gently, and Harry sank gratefully into the grass. She followed suit, allowing him to take another steadying breath before she asked again, "What happened?"

This time _he_ looked away. He heard her mutter something quickly; his robes fluttered and he looked down. They were clean of blood and water once more.

"It wasn't my fault!" he burst out suddenly, unaware if he was trying to convince her or himself, "I… just walked in on him—he tried to hex me—started to say the Cruciatus curse…"

She bit her lip. He felt himself slump wearily; his defense fell flat."Go on, say it," Harry said bitterly, and when she looked puzzled, he said, "You told me so."

"Do you really think I would say to you when you look like this?" she said softly, reprovingly. When he didn't say anything, she said, "Well, I wasn't going to."

There was a silence.

"Sorry," Harry said after a pause, in a low voice. She shook her head.

She hesitated, then asked, "The book… where is it? That's where you learned that spell, isn't it?"

He lowered his head.

"The Room of Requirement," he said, avoiding her second question.

Suddenly, she touched his hand lightly.

"At least you're both all right," she said, purposely diverting the direction of the conversation; for once, Harry did not mind her concern over his wellbeing. It was far better than the alternative.

"Yeah, I guess."

She sighed and drew up her legs, hugging her knees. Her brow was softly furrowed.

"Hermione, I—"

He wasn't sure what he wanted to say. But somehow he knew he ought to say _something_.She looked at him expectantly, and he wet his lips.

"I wouldn't have used that spell if I had known—I—" he said in a rush, "I didn't know what it would—I wouldn't have—"

She reached out and squeezed his hand.

"I know, Harry."

When she hesitantly laced her fingers through his, he realized that he felt oddly heady with relief—and something else, though he could name the feeling….

"That spell is an awful spell, whatever it did," she said evenly, "But you didn't mean to leave Malfoy in that state. You wouldn't."

She gave him a small smile, and he felt another wave of relief sweep over him. He knew the Quidditch team, the whole of Gryffindor in fact, would be upset with him for missing the match. But Hermione wouldn't. That thought was oddly comforting.

"The book—" he started to say, but she shook her head.

"We can talk about it later," she said firmly, "not now. We don't have to argue about it now."

She paused.

"I don't _like_ to argue. But sometimes—"

"You have to," he finished, and he felt himself smile. She smiled back, unrepentant and good-natured.

"We'd best get to dinner," she said, "we have homework to do—well, actually, _you_ have homework to do. I've finished."

He allowed her to pull him to his feet.

"Thanks, Hermione," he said as they walked back. "For... finding me, you know—for caring, you know… the way you did."

An odd look passed over her face, as if his words had pricked her somewhere. But she smiled slightly.

"Someday, you'll have to return the favor."

"I will," he said, returning the smile.

She paused. For reasons he couldn't understand, her eyes seemed to cloud over with an emotion he couldn't place.

"I'm sure you'll do your best," was all she said, in a light tone that seemed weighed down with meaning.

It wasn't what she had said that puzzled him, not really. It was what she _meant_ that confused him.

It seemed almost as if what Hermione had meant to say—what she had _wanted _to tell him—was looking him in the face.

What bothered him was that he still wasn't seeing it.

_A/N: Well, there you go. I hope it made sense...? Thanks for reading!_


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